Coney Island

Lucy and I look younger than our age.
I've been away a long time.
Could really use a drink
and some carnival lights.

Got my east coast uniform:
liquid liner,
bubble gum,
big hoops.

I remember how to be this girl:
Lick cotton candy
from my fingers,
walk slow past the handball courts.

The guys in there know what to do:
lean against the chain link,
look us over,
talk louder.

It's a dance. I remember the steps:
look them up and down right back,
whisper to my girl,
make eye contact.

We ride the rides,
the Wonder Wheel,
scream.
It's getting colder,
late September, but
we can't resist the games.

Here everyone knows where they're from.
I envy that.
No block on earth can claim me,
but I learned all the steps.

"Two girls and cotton candy!"
"Oh, man!"
"Look at that!"

Look bored,
glance back,
they smile,
we laugh.

the pink
sweet cotton
from the tip
of my finger
to the pink
of my lips. 

"Two girls and cotton candy!"
"Oh, man!"
"Look at that!"


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